


80 Proof

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF, due South
Genre: All Star Game, Chicago - Freeform, Gen, Vodka, awful singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four (possibly five) bars later it’s just him and Ovechkin because Ovechkin's liver is <i>terrifying</i> and Pat's probably too competitive for his own good. Apparently Ovechkin’s newest idea is to teach Pat the Russian national anthem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	80 Proof

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to L., without whom this fic would never have made it past the bunny stage, and H., without whom this fic would be a mess of different tenses and also not as good. Any and all remaining mistakes are my own.

The thing is, Pat really loves Chicago. Buffalo is home, is always going to be home in some ways, but Chicago is the city that opened her arms to him, and even when their relationship is rocky he knows he'll always come back to her. With the All Star Game in town he wants to show her off, make her look her best. He knows that non-Hawks probably won’t appreciate her properly, but Patrick intends to let them know she’s the second city in name only.

He might have gotten a bit over enthusiastic with his praise. But it’s the ASG, which is basically an excuse to hang out, show off, and get smashed off your ass with all your friends on other teams. Of course Pat’s going to talk about Chicago’s bars. New York and Toronto might lay claim to more restaurants, but as far as Pat’s concerned there’s no better place to drink than Chicago. Recently he’s been really into the vodka cocktails at Lokal, and he brags a bit to the Edmonton kids. He knows they have a great fanbase, but Edmonton's a tiny city, it has nothing on Chicago.

“Seriously dude,” he tells Hall, which basically means talking to all of the other Oilers at the game there as well. “They’ve got this vodka called Krupnik and normally vodka’s not my drink, but it tastes fantastic. You could only get that sort of thing in Chicago.”

“No one in America really knows vodka,” Alex Galchenyuk says. He and Yakupov have been giggling at each other all weekend, so it's no surprise that he's listening in.

“ _You_ skate for America,” Pat argues.

“How do you think I know?” Galchenyuk replies. He says something in Russian to Yakupov, which apparently caught Malkin’s ear. Malkin skates over and then Datsyuk shows up a few seconds later, and then Ovechkin, apparently wondering what was going on, skates to a sudden stop in front of them, spraying them all with ice. Pat finds himself the only American voice in vodka debate, though everyone else involved strenuously denies the stereotypes about Russians and vodka.

The next thing Pat knows, he's leading a delegation consisting of half of the Russian players at the ASG to Lokal. And then to Tzar Vodka, where the mink coats and iPads in the glass vault are deemed "almost good enough for Moscow" by Datsyuk. Pat knows that it’s totally good enough for Moscow, but Datsyuk’s probably not allowed to say anything too nice about Chicago since she’s enemy territory.

Ovechkin, who nominates himself their leader, decides that although Tzar wasn't bad, two bars didn't make Chicago a great vodka city. He refuses come up with a specific number, but he does pull up a list of bars on his phone and forces them all back out into the streets of Chicago to grab cabs. There’s a lot of driving back and forth, so Pat kinda loses track of where they are after the fourth bar. He does remember Malkin going off into the corner to make a phone call and Galchenyuk definitely looking disappointed in how quickly his elders got completely smashed off their faces though. Also Yakupov wasn’t even drinking, which was totally unfair in the hangover avoidance game.

Four (possibly five) bars later it’s just him and Ovechkin because Ovechkin's liver is _terrifying_ and Pat's probably too competitive for his own good. Apparently Ovechkin’s newest idea is to teach Pat the Russian national anthem.

"Good for Sochi," Oveckin tells him, "you can sing along after we kick your ass and win gold."

"Fuck you, who says we're going to win gold." It's possible that Pat's too drunk to keep track of his pronouns. His third grade teacher Mrs. Peters would be super disappointed in him.

But Ovechkin starts singing again, if it could properly be called singing. It's more like off-tune caterwauling. Pat seems to remember that Ovechkin had some sort of song come out in Russia, but that can't possibly be right. No one would voluntarily listen to that noise.

"Shut up or I'm calling the cops!" someone shouts from an apartment building above them. The last bar they went to was new to Pat, but they had a kick ass martini. It finally forced Ovechkin to concede that maybe Chicago was all right before they stumbled out the door and into the residential-looking streets around the bar.

Pat actually doesn't recognize this part of Chicago. He loves his neighborhood, and the neighborhoods he parties in, and all the various tourist attractions he’s gone to over the years, but he’s still not familiar with everywhere in his city. He wants to look up where they are, but pulling his iPhone out of his pocket is proving surprisingly difficult. "Pockets are really hard," he tells Ovechkin, for lack of any one better around.

"And this is why you will lose at Sochi," Ovechkin tells him, before resuming the national anthem. Even though Pat hasn't played with any Russian players, he's heard a few of those words on ice. He's pretty sure that Ovechkin's adding in some choice commentary about Chicago's inability to appreciate his singing.

Pat's pretty surprised when...well, it's probably a few minutes later. Probably. He mostly uses his iPhone as a watch these days, and once again, pockets. But anyway a dude in a Mountie costume shows up. There's also another dude with spiky hair who looks distinctly put off by Ovechkin's shouting, but he's not in bright red so Pat pays less attention to him.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to stop singing. It's late at night, and this is a residential neighborhood," the Mountie says.

"It's good fun, for the All Star Game, no? I bring some Russia to Chicago," Ovechkin says, and he's probably trying to turn up the charm, since he starts singing again, although at a more reasonable volume.

"Sir, while I respect the National Anthem of the Federation of Russia, we're going to have to ask you to stop singing. Also I believe that you added in some unofficial lyrics to the second and third verses." The Mountie looks firm and not particularly taken by Ovechkin's smile.

"Even though he's Canadian, he's not impressed by the part where either of you play in the NHL," the blond guy behind him adds. The blond guy has a Chicago accent, which is rather comforting to Pat, even if something about a Mountie is niggling at the back of his mind.

"Are you two cops?" he asks, because maybe the Mountie is on the way to a costume party and just stopped to do a good deed or something. Sometimes Jonny holds doors for little old ladies and Sharpy is actually incapable of not thanking waiters. It’s a Canadian thing.

“What’s a Canadian doing as cop in Chicago?” Ovechkin asks, tilting in his head as if to peer underneath the Mountie’s hat.

"My name is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and I came to Chicago--" the Mountie, Constable Fraser, starts, before the blond guy cuts him off with a sigh.

"It can wait Frase, let's just get these two out of here before Mrs. Turner-Hernandez starts throwing things."

“If she throws things do you arrest her? Because I think throw things at people to hurt them is illegal too,” Ovechkin says with a shrug. “I didn’t hurt her.”

Pat might disagree about the level of harm Mrs. Turner-Hernandez suffered (Ovechkin really can’t sing), but he does think Ovechkin has a point. If she started throwing things from several stories up it would probably hurt when it hit them.

And then there are _actual_ CPD cop cars at the end of the street and the blond guy sighs the same sigh that Pat's mom sighed when he got playdough in Jackie's hair.

"Ahh, Ray, if you could," Constable Fraser says, and Ray sighs even _louder_ , throwing his whole body into it. It’s like Jonny mid-sulk levels of sigh, which is really passive aggression at its finest. Pat looks sympathetically at Constable Fraser. He knows that’s the type of sigh that could wear on a man's soul. Constable Fraser gives Pat a polite smile back.

"If you gentlemen could just come with me to avoid making more noise that would disturb the neighborhood further, that would be much appreciated."

Ovechkin looks like he's going to argue, but somehow Constable Fraser raises his eyebrow and manages to convey exactly _how_ unreasonable that would make him look, and while Constable Fraser would never be so impolite as to mention it, there would totally be some judging going down. Pat's super impressed, he's never got his eyebrows to say that much. He tries to raise his eyebrows a few times in imitation, but he's drunk enough that he can't really feel his face properly, so it's probably not the same.

"Sure, corporal," Ovechkin finally agrees with a shrug, "we can do that."

"Constable," Ray says, coming back from his chat as the CPD car pulls away. "But seeing as English isn't your first language we'll let it slide."

"Corporal, constable, Mountie, you want me to get correct name you get less complicated language," Ovie says as Ray walks them towards a black GTO. "American and Canadians act like Russian's hard, but you can’t even agree how to spell 'color'. At least in Russia we can spell color."

That sparks an entire argument between Constable Fraser and Ovechkin about whether or not having a difference between “v” and “g” is bigger than adding a “u” , but it’s all over Pat’s head and he mostly tunes it out. Constable Fraser's accent reminds Pat a lot of going to school in London and between the conversation and the rumble of the GTO’s engine Pat falls asleep in the back seat.

He's having a fairly nice dream about playing shinny with Jonny, where they're both wearing high heels instead of skates, when Ovechkin shakes his shoulder and wakes him up.

"You drooled on yourself," he comments as Pat tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"You're the one who got us arrested," Pat feels the need to point out, because he might not be the most graceful sleeper, but for once this is not his fault. At all. If Deadspin tries to pin this one on Pat he’s going to be super irritated. When he’s a dumbass he mostly tries to do it outside of Chicago, and if Ovechkin is the one to screw that up Pat’s going to sic Jonny’s death glare on him.

"Actually we're letting you get off with a warning," Ray says, herding them past a dude with at least a dozen black goats all dressed in Cubs t-shirts and sitting them down in front a desk. "Nothing too bad since you were cooperative, but," he drops a giant stack of paper in front of them, "you need to fill all that out and you're going to need to get someone--"

"Someone sober," Constable Fraser adds.

"Right," Ray nods, "someone sober, to come get you."

Fortunately Pat has had plenty of practice signing things while intoxicated and by the way that Ovechkin's flipping through the pages he doesn't have any issues either. Who knew that signing autographs in bars would ever come in handy?

By the time Pat finishes up and takes a sip of the water that Constable Fraser has provided for them pockets are seeming like much less of a challenge. He only drops his phone once, and it doesn't even crack the screen.

Pat scrolls through his contacts, although he knows that realistically there's only one person he could call. Sharpy's a boring dad now and likes his sleep, Burr's in San Jose, and Hoss declined the ASG because he turned his ankle and is vacationing in Florida. He could probably call one of his Rockford ducklings (as Sharpy likes to call them) but he feels like it would be irresponsible to let them see him in a police station. They'll probably find out anyway, but they shouldn't have to _see_ it. Pat’s been a big brother for most of his life, he knows what the lines are.

Pat makes a face, but he finally presses Jonny's phone number. He then makes many more faces as he’s forced to explain to Jonny exactly why he needs to come get Pat at 2:30 AM. From a cop station.

"Look," Pat finally says, after the third time Jonny goes _Really, Pat?_ , "This is completely not my fault okay? I was not the one who was singing the Russian national anthem, and I was not the Mountie who brought us in, and--"

"Wait, Mountie?" Jonny says, and it finally clicks.

"You're the Mountie from Chicago who helped out when the crazy dude from Detroit melted the entire rink right before the Conference playoffs!" Pat says to Constable Fraser, who was entering their paperwork into the computer at a blinding speed.

"Technically that was my partner, Detective Kowalski who solved that case, I merely provided an assist with the more provincial nature of Canadian hockey rivalries, though of course I was happy to help out," Constable Fraser says, straightening up his already pretty good posture. He doesn’t even stop typing.

"He drank rink water," Ray--Detective Kowalski--says with exactly the amount of disgust that warrants. "I was worried he was going to give himself typhus."

"Ray, I was in no danger of getting typhus, you can only get that from ticks." Fraser sounds perfectly serious, but a certain something in the tilt of his mouth suggests he's in on the joke.

"Plus you have a freaky good immune system," Detective Kowalski says.

"One day you and I should go drinking," Ovechkin says to Fraser. "I want to see how much vodka a man who drinks rink water can drink."

"Perhaps one day, Mr. Ovechkin," Fraser says.

"I'll be down in ten," Jonny says before hanging up.

Someone from the Russian consulate shows up in five. Apparently Ovechkin's mom knows someone who knows someone? Whatever, Pat's not sober enough to follow Russian sports politics. As long as they don’t try to talk to him about vodka it’ll be fine.

Jonny arrives in fifteen, because he might be Captain Serious, but he always underestimates the amount of time it's going to take for him to drive in Chicago. At this point Pat just adds on ten to twenty whenever Jonny gives him an ETA.

There's a lot of super polite Canadian handshaking, because apparently you can bring the boys to Chicago but you can't beat the manners out of them. It turns out that Fraser is friends with a former NHLer who worked with the Canadian Juniors team when Jonny played for them, so there's also some catching up on mutual acquaintances.

  
Sharpy always swears that there's 35 million people in Canada, but Pat's also never met a Canadian that wasn't somehow connected to all other Canadians, so Pat's pretty sure that's just a myth they spread to keep America from thinking about invading in revenge for 1812. The Canadian reunion drags on and Pat catches himself nodding off, again, when Constable Fraser and Jonny start comparing Canadian winters to Chicago ones.

"Come on, Fraser, let the kids go, they've got hockey to play tomorrow," Kowalski finally says, unfolding from where he was slouching against his desk. "Plus I bet Dewey paperwork on that game and I don’t want to lose."

Pat would protest about being called a kid--he’s over twenty five, and has been playing for the Hawks for six years, okay?--but a giant yawn escapes when he opens his mouth.

"Ah, yes, of course," Fraser says. He shakes both their hands. "Mr. Kane, Mr. Toews, it was delightful to meet you. Good luck with the rest of the All Star Weekend."

There's more polite Canadian wrapping up as they get out the door, but finally Pat's in Jonny's passenger seat and they’re driving away from the station, moving through the cars that are around even at this late at night. "What did you do this time?" Jonny asks, more fond than accusatory.

Pat wants to insist that none of this was his fault, it started with Galchenyuk and Yakupov, and also the part where the cops got involved was all Ovechkin, which is totally true except..."Well, I guess I loved Chicago too much," Pat is forced to admit. "Also there was vodka."

**Author's Note:**

> This probably isn't the Due South cross over you were hoping for, where Tazer's a Mountie in pursuit of the killer of his mother and Kaner's a cop from Chicago. Sorry about that, I hope it gets written (by someone not me) too.


End file.
